Spirit
by flyboyfan23
Summary: One shot. Shep whump. mullings of a wraith queen over her new prisoner.


The Queen smirked as her prisoner groaned as he turned over, moving to a position to which he was laying flat on his back. Dried blood trailed his exposed chest, the disturbing bruises taking the form of a hand print, shallow cuts scabbing over at each of the fingertips and in the middle of the palm. She had had her fun again, toying with him before sedating her hunger. A drone had replenished him, but not to the extent that he was strong again. He was a warrior and the queen was no fool. It was too dangerous to allow him to rebuild his strength. She watched in fascination as the man began to cough, blood splattering his lips bright red. The worshipers last encounter with the prisoner had been too spirited. She would be sure be reprimand them, but not to harshly after all they were merely jealous that he received more attention than them. She would occasionally summon one of them to simply appease their attention deficit with meaningless tasks. The prisoner would have gladly given up his slot but his unwillingness was what caused his increased social time with her above all the others. His defiance tasted sweet and alluring. A defiance so strong she had not encountered for thousands of years. She found it a refreshing change so she now kept him alive so she may feed on him for as long as his spirit remained strong. She knew it would not last forever, his spirit waning the longer his imprisonment lasted. Perhaps a few years and she would feed one last time, savoring the remaining threads of his defiance. It would be a shame to end it but as his spirit waned so would the unusually sweet taste of his strength. Sweat glistened on the prisoner's brow as he panted, small rivets of water running down his skin and soaking the black messy mop of hair. He was a fit man with a chiseled chest, if a little thin. He lay there muscles still quivering, his eyes screwed shut as if to block out the world outside. He believed so strongly his people would rescue him. The thought giving him strength each day as he woke to a new horror. She had ordered the drones to give him sustenance each night though due to his waning frame she suspected the worshipers to be intercepting most of the food. The thought did not worry her yet, he was strong still. She smiled as the prisoner's breathing returned to normal. He was a warrior, resisting even when others would have submitted, remained alert when any other human would have fallen into darkness, even surpassing the limits of weaker wraiths. She watched in silence as the man opened his eyes revealing his pain dulled green irises. He opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it again, seeming to decide it not worth the effort. Smirking, the queen knelt and grabbed a fist full of his ebony hair. His groan graced her ear as she dragged him over to the couch where she reclined. Having positioned him in front of her she began to run her long fingers through his hair and down the nape of his neck. A shiver ran down his spine with each stroke and she reveled in the way his muscles reacted to her ice cold touch. The pangs of hunger were already making themselves known and with his alluring scent directly in front of her the urge to feed again was great but it was too soon. He would not survive a feeding so soon after the first, the stress on his body would prove to great. So she withheld. Bruises littered the space even back here, distinct fingerprints encircling his neck, standing out even more next to his sun deprived skin. Scabs criss crossed his back in what many would find to be a sickening pattern but she saw only beauty, beauty in the man's suffering. He struck a wraith, her second in command. He was known for his ingenious ways. His curiosity delving into the many rare devices of human torture. His collection was impressive and he was always looking for new subjects to test the many devices on. The man being his newest challenge. The man refused to beg and no matter what the commander did to the prisoner he would not scream. This only goading the commander into harsher and more elaborate demonstrations. Yesterday, she had watch impassively as the prisoner writhed in agony as the electrical current dance over each nerve, filling the air with the musky smell of seared flesh. Today the wraith had been all but dancing as he prepared for the next session. He had received a new toy with the latest culling, a device of some sort along with collections of serums and potions. The wraith even now hung in the shadows, eagerly shifting from foot to foot, waiting for his queen to give him permission to begin. Smiling, she sunk further into the folds of the fabric enjoying making him wait a little while longer. She reveled in the feel of his hair, the texture was so different from wraith hair, softer along with his skin which was warm instead of cold and clammy. She watched as the man's eyes trailed over to the commander hidden in the shadows, a shiver running down his spine as the wraith sneered at him. Perhaps in was time to allow the commander to expel some of his pent up energy. She gave him a slight nod, a grin breaking his sharp features. The grin didn't disappear as he stalked forward. The prisoner's muscles tensing as he watched the commander, wincing as the long nails buried into his scalp, pulling him to his feet. The queen gracefully rose from the bed and followed them out of the chamber, feeling the need for some entertainment.

She watched as the man was roughly strapped to the table in the commander's laboratory, her expression never changing from the impassive frown. The prisoner was shaking, a cold sweat coating his pale skin. A fever now burned within him, glazing his cheeks pink while the rest of his skin was clammy in comparison. She walked up to him as the commander prepared his variety of devices. She ran her fingers through the man's hair again. This was turning into quite the habit, she would have to watch how often she was seen doing this or her crew may start to think she'd gone soft. This thought was enforced when she felt the eyes of the commander on her back. She quickly raked her nails down the man's cheek, making sure to draw blood, hoping to banish all doubts. The commander's smirk told her she had succeeded. The prisoner's eyes were squeezed shut as if he could block out the on-coming horrors. Hunger again rose in her chest as she watched his heaving breaths increase, sweat and blood giving his skin a slick appearance. A light spattering of salt and pepper hair lightly covered his chest, intriguing her. Wraith did not posses such hair. Her hand again rose to run her long fingers through it, her nails dragging painfully over the barely clotted feed marks, eliciting a moan from the warrior. The commander approached to stand on the opposite side of the table of her, loaded syringe in hand, awaiting her approval. She allowed her fingers to trail back up to his hair, she would be sure to erase all doubts later. She nodded, her eyes never leaving the man's eyes, which were now staring at the syringe held in front of his face, fear glazing his eyes. Slowly the commander injected the new chemical into the already tract covered arms. The reaction was almost instant, the warrior's muscles spasming and his muffled groans echoing throughout the chamber. Her gaze never left his face, not wanting to miss a moment of the man's agony, reveling in the beauty of it.

She was about to speak to the warrior when an explosion rocked the room. So his friends had returned for him. The fact did not worry her, though, for they were to succeed, and she had it in mind to do everything in her power to deny them that, but if they were to it would feed the man's hope and defiance and in time she would catch him again and feed once more, savoring the rare taste. Another explosion caused the vials on the shelves to shake. Smiling to herself, she turned her back to the prisoner and made her way to her chambers, prepared for the hunt that was to come. A new day and a new game were waiting.


End file.
